Dance With Mary Jane
by Blackbirdox
Summary: Eames discovers Arthur's one and only vice.


**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything aside from one too many ideas for this pairing. Someone **_**really**_** needs to stop me. **

**A/N: I know that not everyone is comfortable with fics involving drug use and though this doesn't contain anything hard core and it's vague for the most part, if this is something that you know you're not comfortable with, I'd advise you to stop reading now. And if you do read it, I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always appreciated. **

Eames isn't accustomed to seeing Arthur relax because Arthur _doesn't_ relax. Not like this, anyway.

Sometimes, he'll loosen his tie on the way home from a job and sometimes he'll actually smile and laugh when he has one too many drinks in him and then there are the times when, shrouded in post orgasm bliss, he'll curl himself into Eames side and stroke and kiss his chest as they just talk about nothing and everything but the tension never fades- not all the way, at least.

His worry lines are still there, creasing the skin around the corners of his mouth and the space between his eyebrows, and his shoulders are still tight and he always has a sort of far away look in his eyes like he's already worrying about what tomorrow is going to bring.

But not now.

The lines are gone and his limbs are loose and limp and his eyes are shut and there's a small, blissful smile on his face. Even his tie lies open and undone, just carelessly draped around his neck, and the very top buttons of his shirt are undone and Eames is just at a loss because Arthur is _beautiful _like this- all disheveled and rugged.

It's quite shocking, actually, because he never would have pegged Arthur as a person who would indulge in something like this.

He licks his dry lips as he watches in amazement and surprise, simply unable to tear his gaze away as he watches Arthur twirl the joint between his elegant fingers and bring it up to his mouth. He inhales, holds for a moment and then exhales with the grace and skill of someone who's been doing it all their life.

The air around them is hazy, the smoke illuminated in the soft light of the lamp in the corner, and it smells like tar- heavier and more acrid then a cigarette; sticky and faintly sweet in the way that only marijuana can be. It leaves a bitter taste on Eames' tongue as he inhales and for a moment, his memory takes him back to England and high school and the parties he frequented- full of drugs and drinks and experimentation.

He savors the taste and rolls around on his tongue for a moment before he swallows and scuffles his way over to the couch. He had prepared a snide comment and a demand for Arthur to come to bed but now his mind is just totally blank and he can't say anything at all.

Instead, Eames just sinks down next to Arthur and Arthur cracks one eye open and his expression doesn't change- too far gone to care or worry about being caught.

"Yes?" he asks simply, taking another hit and doing a delightful thing with his tongue and the shape of his mouth that causes the smoke to come out in subtle swirls.

Eames stares transfixed for a moment before he realized he'd been spoken to. He licks his lips again. "I was just coming to ask you to come to bed." He pauses, realizes how desperate that sounds and then adds, "The light was keeping me up."

Arthur makes a sound that's somewhere between a hum and a sigh as he runs his free hand through his hair and pushes it out of the way. "I'll be there in a minute."

Eames' raises and eyebrow and just smirks. "Well, I'm not going to bed now," he says, scooting over so that his shoulder is pressed against Arthur. And Arthur, who is normally so hesitant with physical contact and prefers to be warned before he's touched, doesn't even flinch and Eames wishes things could be like this all the time.

"Are you going to share that, pet?"

Arthur's eyes open slowly and he blinks a few times as everything slides back into focus. He stares down at the joined his hand, obviously rolled neat and precise by Arthur's careful fingers, and he just shrugs- a gesture so careless and informal that for a moment, Eames is convinced he's just dreaming

Arthur doesn't act like this and Arthur doesn't do things like this but then _fuck_, Arthur is taking another hit and then he's shotgunning him and those are definitely Arthur's pressed against his open mouth, exhaling into it, and that gives him more reassurance than any totem ever could.

He breathes the smoke in eagerly and it wafts warm and tangy around his tongue. His fingers slid up the back of Arthur's neck and tangle into his hair as he tugs him closer, inhaling as much as he can.

Eames is coughing when he pulls back but he can't fight the lazy grin that spreads out across his face or the small, content little sigh that escapes him as he settles back against the couch.

"You've been holding out on me," he chides playfully once the coughing stops, his voice husky and rough. He curls his arm around Arthur's shoulder and his grin widens as he snuggles up to him in the way that Eames just loves.

Arthur smiles as he tucks his face into the juncture between Eames's shoulder and his chin. "I've never seen a reason to bring it up."

Eames clicks his tongue as he reaches over and plucks the joint from Arthur's fingers. "Bloody shame that was," he sniffs as he takes a hit for himself, letting a low groan slip out from his lips when he exhales.

It's been forever since he's smoked something other than a cigarette and the sensation is so familiarly unfamiliar. His head is swimming and the euphoria is perfection and being able to share something like this with Arthur- Arthur who has never once defied the law or the norms of society. Outside of work, that is.

He knows that there are far better things they could be doing- and things are that are a little more legal but then again, _nothing_ they do is legal so that doesn't matter- but that's okay because if sharing a little smoke now again allows them to have moments like this, Eames is perfectly fine with it. It's worth it for the both of them to be able to unwind and relax and forget the stress and the chaos of the world around them.

So they just sit there together in silence, curled around each other, and pass the joint back and forth until it dulls to nothing but embers and Arthur stamps it out on the ashtray on the coffee table.

And even then, it takes a good thirty minutes for the silence to be broken- both of them too warm and content and sated to say anything until Arthur sits up and smiles just slightly, his eyes red rimmed and glazed over.

"Do we have any Oreos?"


End file.
